‘The third day of the disastrous battle of Leipsic was drawing to a
close, as the armies of the coalition made one terrible and fierce
attack, in concert, against the Imperial forces. Never was anything
before heard like the deafening thunder, as three hundred guns of heavy
artillery opened their fire at once from end to end of the line, and
three hundred thousand men advanced, wildly cheering, to the attack.
‘Wearied, worn out, and exhausted, the French army held their ground,
like men prepared to die before their Emperor, but never desert him,
when the fearful intelligence was brought to Napoleon that in three days
the army had fired ninety-five thousand cannon-balls; that the reserve
ammunition was entirely consumed, and but sixteen thousand cannon-balls
remained, barely sufficient to maintain the fire two hours longer! What
was to be done? No resources lay nearer than Magdeburg or Erfurt. To the
latter place the Emperor at once decided on retiring, and at seven
o’clock the order was given for the artillery waggons and baggage to
pass the defile of Lindenau, and retreat over the Elster, the same order
being transmitted to the cavalry and the other corps of the army. The
defile was a long and difficult one, extending for two leagues, and
traversing several bridges. To accomplish the retreat in safety,
Napoleon was counselled to hold the allies in check by a strong force of
artillery, and then set fire to the faubourg; but the conduct of the
Saxon troops, however deserving of his anger, could not warrant a
punishment so fearful on the monarch of that country, who, through every
change of fortune, had stood steady in his friendship. He rejected the
course at once, and determined on retreating as best he might.
‘The movement was then begun at once, and every avenue that led to the
faubourg of Lindenau was crowded by troops of all arms, eagerly pressing
onward--a fearful scene of confusion and dismay, for it was a beaten
army that fled, and one which until now never had thoroughly felt the
horrors of defeat. From seven until nine the columns came on at a quick
step, the cavalry at a trot; defiling along the narrow gorge of
lindenau, they passed a mill at the roadside, where at a window stood
one with arms crossed and head bent upon his bosom. He gazed steadfastly
at the long train beneath, but never noticed the salutes of the general
officers as they passed along. It was the Emperor himself, pale and
care-worn, his low chapeau pressed down far on his brows, and his
uniform splashed and travel-stained. For over an hour he stood thus
silent and motionless; then throwing himself upon a bed he slept. Yes;
amid all the terrible events of that disastrous retreat, when the
foundations of the mighty empire he had created were crumbling beneath
him, when the great army he had so often led to victory was defiling
beaten before him, he laid his wearied head upon a pillow and slept!
‘A terrible cannonade, the fire of seventy large guns brought to bear
upon the ramparts, shook the very earth, and at length awoke Napoleon,
who through all the din and clamour had slept soundly and tranquilly.
‘“What is it, Duroc?” said he, raising himself upon one arm, and looking
up.
‘“It is Swartzenberg’s attack, sire, on the rampart of Halle.”
‘“Ha! so near?” said he, springing up and approaching the window, from
which the bright flashes of the artillery were each moment discernible
in the dark sky. At the same moment an aide-de-camp galloped up, and
dismounted at the door; in another minute he was in the room.
‘The Saxon troops, left by the Emperor as a guard of honour and
protection to the unhappy monarch, had opened a fire on the retreating
columns, and a fearful confusion was the result. The Emperor spoke not a
word. Macdonald’s corps and Poniatowskf s division were still in
Leipsic; but already they had commenced their retiring movement on
Lindenau. Lauriston’s brigade was also rapidly approaching the bridge
over the Elster, to which now the men were hurrying madly, intent alone
on flight. The bridge--the only one by which the troops could pass --had
been mined, and committed to the charge of Colonel Montfort of the
Engineers, with directions to blow it up when the enemy appeared, and
thus gain time for the baggage to retreat.
‘As the aide-de-camp stood awaiting Napoleon’s orders in reply to a few
lines written in pencil by the Duke of Tarento, another staff-officer
arrived, breathless, to say that the allies had carried the rampart, and
were already in Leipsic. Napoleon became deadly pale; then, with a
motion of his hand, he signed to the officer to withdraw.
‘“Duroc,” said he, when they were alone, “where is Nansouty?”
‘“With the eighth corps, sire. They have passed an hour since.”
‘“Who commands the picket without?”
‘“Aubuisson, sire.”
‘“Send him to me, and leave us alone.”
‘In a few moments Colonel Aubuisson entered. His arm was in a sling from
a sabre-wound he had received the morning before, but which did not
prevent his remaining on duty. The stout soldier seemed as unconcerned
and fearless in that dreadful moment as though it were a day of gala
manoeuvres, and not one of disaster and defeat.
‘“Aubuisson,” said the Emperor, “you were with us at Alexandria?”
‘“I was, sire,” said he, as a deeper tinge coloured his bronzed
features.
‘“The first in the rampart--I remember it well,” said Napoleon; “the
_ordre du jour_ commemorates the deed. It was at Moscow you gained the
cross, I believe?” continued he, after a slight pause.
‘“I never obtained it, sire,” replied Aubuisson, with a struggle to
repress some disappointment in his tone.
‘“How, never obtained it!--you, Aubuisson, an ancient _brave_ of the
Pyramids! Come, come, there has been a mistake somewhere; we must look
to this. Meanwhile, _General_ Aubuisson, take mine.”
‘With that he detached his cordon from the breast of his uniform, and
fastened it on the coat of the astonished officer, who could only mutter
the words, “Sire, sire!” in reply.
‘“Now, then, for a service you must render me, and speedily, too,” said
Napoleon, as he laid his hand on the general’s shoulder.
‘The Emperor whispered for some seconds in his ear, then looked at him
fixedly in the face. “What!” cried he, “do you hesitate?”
‘“Hesitate, sire!” said Aubuisson, starting back. “Never! If your
Majesty had ordered me to the mouth of a mortar--but I wish to know----”
‘Napoleon did not permit him to conclude, but drawing him closer,
whispered again a few words in his ear. “And, mark me,” said he, aloud,
as he finished, “mark me, Aubuisson! silence--pas un mot? silence à la
mort!”
‘“A la mort, sire!” repeated the general, while at the same moment Duroc
hurried into the room, and cried out--
‘“They are advancing towards the Elster; Macdonald’s rear-guard is
engaged----”
‘A motion of Napoleon’s hand towards the door and a look at Aubuisson
was the only notice he took of the intelligence, and the officer was
gone.
‘While Duroc continued to detail the disastrous events the last arrived
news had announced, the Emperor approached the window, which was still
open, and looked out. All was in darkness towards that part of the city
near the defile. The attack was on the distant rampart, near which the
sky was red and lurid. Still, it was towards that dark and gloomy part
that Napoleon’s eyes were turned, and not in the direction where the
fight was still raging. Peering into the dense blackness, he stood
without speaking, when suddenly a bright gleam of light shot up from the
gloom, and then came three tremendous reports, so rapidly, one after the
other, as almost to seem like one. The same instant a blaze of fire
flashed upwards towards the sky, and glittering fragments of burning
timber were hurled into the air. Napoleon covered his eyes with his
hand, and leaned against the side of the window.
‘“It is the bridge over the Elster!” cried Duroc, in a voice half wild
with passion. “They’ve blown up the bridge before Macdonald’s division
have crossed.”
‘“Impossible!” said the Emperor. “Go see quickly, Duroc, what has
happened.”
‘But before the general could leave the room, a wounded officer rushed
in, his clothes covered with the marks of recent fire.
‘“The Sappers, sire! the Sappers-----”
‘“What of them?” said the Emperor.
‘“They’ve blown up the bridge, and the fourth corps are still in
Leipsic.”
‘The next moment Napoleon was on his horse, surrounded by his staff, and
galloping furiously towards the river.
‘Never was a scene more awful than that which now presented itself
there. Hundreds of men had thrown themselves headlong into the rapid
river, where masses of burning timber were falling on every side; horse
and foot all mixed up in fearful confusion struggled madly in the
stream, mingling their cries with the shouts of those who came on from
behind, and who discovered for the first time that the retreat was cut
off. The Duke of Tarento crossed, holding by his horse’s mane. Lauriston
had nearly reached the bank, when he sank to rise no more; and
Poniatowski, the chivalrous Pole, the last hope of his nation, was seen
for an instant struggling with the waves, and then disappeared for ever.
‘Twenty thousand men, sixty great guns, and above two hundred waggons
were thus left in the power of the enemy. Few who sought refuge in
flight ever reached the opposite bank, and for miles down, the shores of
the Elster were marked by the bodies of French soldiers, who thus met
their death on that fearful night.
‘Among the disasters of this terrible retreat was the fate of Reynier,
of whom no tidings could be had; nor was it known whether he died in
battle, or fell a prisoner into the hands of the enemy. He was the
personal friend of the Emperor, who in his loss deplored not only the
brave and valorous soldier, but the steady adherent to his fortunes
through good and evil. No more striking evidence of the amount of this
misfortune can be had than the bulletin of Napoleon himself. That
document, usually devoted to the expression of vainglorious and
exaggerated descriptions of the triumphs of the army--full of those
high-flown narratives by which the glowing imagination of the Emperor
conveyed the deeds of his soldiers to the wondering ears of France--was
now a record of mournful depression and sad reverse of fortune.
‘“The French army,” said he, “continues its march on Erfurt--a beaten
army. After so many brilliant successes, it is now in retreat.”
‘Every one is already acquainted with the disastrous career of that
army, the greatest that ever marched from France. Each step of their
return, obstinately contested against overwhelming superiority of force,
however it might evidence the chivalrous spirit of a nation who would
not confess defeat, brought them only nearer to their own frontiers,
pursued by those whose countries they had violated, whose kings they had
dethroned, whose liberties they had trampled on. The fearful Nemesis of
war had come. The hour was arrived when all the wrongs they had wreaked
on others were to be tenfold inflicted on themselves; when the plains of
that “belle France,” of which they were so proud, were to be trampled
beneath the feet of insulting conquerors; when the Cossack and the Uhlan
were to bivouac in that capital which they so arrogantly styled “the
centre of European civilisation.”
‘I need not dwell on these things; I will but ask you to accompany me to
Erfurt, where the army arrived five days after. A court-martial was
there summoned for the trial of Colonel Montfort of the Engineers, and
the party under his command, who in violation of their orders had
prematurely blown up the bridge over the Elster, and were thus the cause
of that fearful disaster by which so many gallant lives were sacrificed,
and the honour of a French army so grievously tarnished. Contrary to the
ordinary custom, the proceedings of that court-martial were never made
known; * the tribunal sat with closed doors, accessible only to the
Emperor himself and the officers of his personal staff.
* The vicomte’s assertion is historically correct.
‘On the fourth day of the investigation, a messenger was despatched to
Braunach, a distant outpost of the army, to bring up General Aubuisson,
who, it was rumoured, was somehow implicated in the transaction. The
general took his place beside the other prisoners, in the full uniform
of his grade. He wore on his breast the cross the Emperor himself had
given him, and he carried at his side the sabre of honour he had
received on the battlefield of Eylau. Still, they who knew him well
remarked that his countenance no longer wore its frank and easy
expression, while in his eye there was a restless, anxious look, as he
glanced from side to side, and seemed troubled and suspicious.
‘An order, brought by one of the aides-de-camp of the Emperor, commanded
that the proceedings should not be opened that morning before his
Majesty’s arrival, and already the court had remained an hour inactive,
when Napoleon entered suddenly, and saluting the members of the tribunal
with a courteous bow, took his place at the head of the table. As he
passed up the hall he threw one glance upon the bench where the
prisoners sat; it was short and fleeting, but there was one there who
felt it in his inmost soul, and who in that rapid look read his own fate
for ever.
‘“General Aubuisson,” said the President of the court-martial, “you were
on duty with the peloton of your battalion on the evening of the 18th?”
‘A short nod of the head was the only reply. “It is alleged,” continued
the President, “that a little after nine o’clock you appeared on the
bridge over the Elster, and held a conversation with Colonel Montfort,
the officer commanding the post; the court now desires that you will
recapitulate the circumstances of that conversation, as well as inform
it generally on the reasons of your presenting yourself at a post so
remote from your duty.”
‘The general made no reply, but fixed his eyes steadfastly on the face
of the Emperor, whose cold glance met his own, impassive and unmoved.
‘“Have you heard the question of the court?” said the President, in a
louder tone, “or shall I repeat it?”
‘The prisoner turned upon him a look of vacancy. Like one suddenly
awakened from a frightful dream, he appeared struggling to remember
something which no effort of his mind could accomplish. He passed his
hand across his brow, on which now the big drops of sweat were standing,
and then there broke from him a sigh, so low and plaintive it was
scarcely audible.
‘“Collect yourself, general,” said the President, in a milder tone; “we
wish to hear from your own lips your account of this transaction.”
‘Aubuisson cast his eyes downwards, and with his hands firmly clasped,
seemed to reflect. As he stood thus, his look fell upon the cross of the
Legion which he wore on his bosom; with a sudden start he pressed his
hand upon it, and drawing himself up to his full height, exclaimed, in a
wild and broken voice--
‘“Silence--silence à la mort!”
‘The members of the court-martial looked from one to the other in
amazement, while after a pause of a few minutes the President repeated
his question, dwelling patiently on each word, as if desirous to suit
the troubled intellect of the prisoner.
‘“You are asked,” said he, “to remember why you appeared at the bridge
of the Elster.”
‘“Hush!” replied the prisoner, placing his finger upon his lips, as if
to instil caution; “not a word!”
‘“What can this mean?” said the President, “his mind appears completely
astray.”
‘The members of the tribunal leaned their heads over the table, and
conversed for some moments in a low tone, after which the President
resumed the interrogatory as before.
‘“Que voulez-vous?” said the Emperor, rising, while a crimson spot on
his cheek evinced his displeasure; “Que voulez-vous, messieurs! do you
not see the man is mad?”
‘“Silence!” reiterated Aubuisson, in the same solemn voice; “silence à
la mort!”
‘There could no longer be any doubt upon the question. From whatever
cause proceeding, his intellect was shaken, and his reason gone. Some
predominant impression, some all-powerful idea, had usurped the seat of
both judgment and memory, and he was a maniac.
‘In ten days after, General Aubuisson--the distinguished soldier of the
Republic, the _brave_ of Egypt, and the hero of many a battle in
Germany, Poland, and Russia--was a patient of Charenton. A sad and
melancholy figure, wasted and withered like a tree reft by lightning,
the wreck of his former self, he walked slowly to and fro; and though at
times his reason would seem to return free and unclouded, suddenly a
dark curtain would appear to drop over the light of his intellect, and
he would mutter the words, “Silence! silence à la mort!” and speak not
again for several hours after.’
The Vicomte de Berlemont, from whom I heard this sad story, was himself
a member of the court-martial on the occasion. For the rest, I visited
Paris about a fortnight after I heard it, and determining to solve my
doubts on a subject of such interest I paid an early visit to Charenton.
On examining the registry of the institution, I found the name of
‘Gustave Guillaume Aubuisson, native of Dijon, aged thirty-two. Admitted
at Charenton the 31st of October, 1813. Incurable.’ And on another page
was the single line, ‘Aubuisson escaped from Charenton, June 16, 1815.
Supposed to have been seen at Waterloo on the 18th.’
One more fact remains to be mentioned in this sad story. The old tower
still stands, bleak and desolate, on the mountains of the Vesdre; but it
is now uninhabited save by the sheep that seek shelter within its gloomy
walls, and herd in that spacious chimney. There is another change, too,
but so slight as scarcely to be noticed: a little mound of earth, grass-
grown and covered with thistles, marks the spot where ‘Lazare the
shepherd’ takes his last rest. It is a lone and dreary spot, and the
sighing night-winds as they move over the barren heath seem to utter his
last _consigne_, and his requiem--‘Silence! silence à la mort!’